


rebel rebel, how could they know?

by thespis_hauntings



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Fire, Gen, Menstruation, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespis_hauntings/pseuds/thespis_hauntings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the birth - the life - the death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rebel rebel, how could they know?

**Author's Note:**

> as a trans boy jack is super super important to me.. i wrote this in like a half hour so its really rushed
> 
> also david bowie lyrics because why not? and sorry for not posting in a while after this its back to your Regularly Scheduled Gerome/Inigo

the island is hell. his cape and coat are far too hot and heavy but heatstroke is worth it because what would they say if he took it all off – he changes in the farthest corners, away from anybody, because even at 12 his chest is starting to grow in a way that’s different from the other boys.  
something is wrong with him, that must be it, even the little ones could pass more than he does, even simon with his bowlcut and soft feminine face, there’s pictures of samneric that they used to all laugh at back at school where the two of them are only 4 and wearing dresses but they’re still boys, boys in a way jack could never be.  
the night of the feast is the worst. for the few weeks leading up he’s been more grouchy, more temperamental and violent, his emotions switch more quickly than usual and now it’s clear why, because the majority of the blood staining his freckled skin is from the swine but some of it is from between his legs.  
girls in the neighborhood used to talk about this, his red-head cousins would sit in his room and laugh for hours while they did his hair, would swap wrapped products and chocolates and tips, he always found it ridiculous but now he understands. the pain is magnified due to improper eating, all the unwashed fruit and unclean pork has done nothing positive.  
his parents understood, sort of. only because his older brother was already enrolled in the boys school and they were poor, and jack was desperate, so through fudging legal documents and editing papers he got in. how lucky was he, to not even have eggs in the fridge but at least be in the right classroom. his father would shake his head when jack came downstairs in a too big blazer, his mother cried when he said he was a boy. but they learned. they tried. deep in their minds, they still saw him as a girl.  
when the other kids used to laugh and teasingly call him “jacqueline” and shout for him to catch up he would run as fast as possible and slam them against the walls, holding the front of their shirts, panting and murmuring not to fucking do that.  
here, on this troubled country of isolation where grudges formed and survival was key, it was much harder to pass. he frequently demanded for another boy, a younger one, to cut his hair, no matter how bad it looked, because when it grew even to the top of his shoulders jack broke down. the time that he was gathering water and noticed the vermillion locks brushing his neck he started sobbing on the spot, shaking and whimpering, everything that had built up was released into a fit over his hair and when roger took a knife and roughly chopped it off jack acted like nothing was wrong.  
growing up was harder then it should’ve been for jack, “little miss boy merridew”, where the others excelled he failed simply because his hips were wider and hands smaller.  
ralph he especially disliked because he was so free to remove his shirt, he didn’t have the lumps that jack did, his hair was beautiful gold and his nose was perfectly curved, his only flaw was acne and somehow he even made that look gorgeous and jack was bitter, jealous, the human embodiment of resentment.  
when the fire destroyed him it was ok because he could feel his skin melting and twisting, he grabbed his chest with his hands and let the pain take him away, in those few seconds between life and death the breasts forming pushed back and he felt content for once with his form, before he was turned to ash.  
jack merridew, a boy like any other, with a wicked grin and quick hands, immortalized forever in the air of the island, in the desolate rivers and caves that splayed out for miles, his legacy of death and trail of blood lay to rest beneath the grains of sand.  
a young boy, a child, just trying to fit in, to grow, to blossom, under the cloud of hate that lived above him.


End file.
